The Gang Wars
by Matrix89
Summary: This is a parody of the game Goldeneye. The idea was created by me when i got really bored and my freind wrote it. so he gets the credit for writing it i get credit for being so bored to come up with the idea. please R
1. Dam

James' eyes twitched. His pulse quickened. This was it. James was included in a gang that was dwarfed by almost all other gangs. The Soviet's massive empire of power was a thing to be feared by most small-timers. But that was all to change. The Deustches were about to attempt to smash their monopoly into tiny pieces. The Soviets had an entire dam and facility under their control. Practically a private army, their obstacles were few. The Soviets had a longstanding alliance with the Distovias, who were smaller, and grew dependent on the Soviets for protection. And the Deustches were damn sick of being in the smaller part of the hustle. They send two of the best combatants they have, to shatter this base. So, here stands James, gun in hand, ready to kill.  
The dam stood high in the mountains, rather reclusive and menacing. The walls were tall, and painted a grim grey. James drew in a breath, let it out slowly. Readied his Deustche, and darted out from his cover.  
The first guards were caught off-guard, and grabbed their rifles too slowly. A quick burst of automatic fire brought them to the ground. A guard tower stood in the middle of the concrete lot. In it, a sniper notices the nearby firefight. He brings his Soviet to his shoulder, and cannot see his target any longer. Suddenly a bullet whips past his ear, and he turns around. His face was greeted with a barrage of lead. He is thrown backward, and slumps against the rail.  
James then sprints toward the tunnel leading to the second guard outpost. The enemy is already dug in, and waiting. Bullets fly by like a breeze, and our man searches for cover. He finds it, behind barrels of Petrol, or Gasoline. James then, hastily, finds another form of protection.   
The enemy is firing from inside a pillbox, and James has o run behind it, in order to kill its inhabitants. He sprints from the crates to the barrels, and leaps to the rear of the pillbox. The enemy hasn't caught on yet, and James catches them in the back. He then passes on to the third guard station, where the enemy has been at rest, apparently not hearing the gunfire and screams. There is another sniper post, in which the sniper is shot instantly, and he collapses onto the rail, which then snaps, and he is thrown to the ground with tremendous force.  
Our man keeps going to a small building, in which is a Distovia officer, checking over a clipboard. James bursts in, gun pointed. The officer surrenders, dropping his weapon, and raising his arms. A fist slams into his unshaven face, knocking teeth loose.  
"Where is the database?"  
James was talking about the communication database, which is a hub for the Soviet's telephones, and radios for the entire country. It was actually the second reason for coming here.  
"…In the basement. You'll need to attach a comm. To the dish over head then-"  
Rat-a-tat-tat.  
The Soviet silenced the disloyal underling. James wasted the assassin, and moved out of the shack. Indeed, on the roof was a large satellite dish, and a console on the wall. James attached a bug onto the circuiting of the panel, then set of onto the main part of the Dam.  
Three Guard posts stick out, all separated by 400 feet. James enters the nearest one, to mow down the helpless guard inside. Also enclosed was a staircase to the bunker downstairs. In the bunker, lay an enormous amount of Soviet members. All of which were rookies, and killed easily. James proceeded to the Information Hub. There was a lone guard, busy playing Free-cell on one of the seven monitors, when our man rested his barrel on the Soviet's skull. His finger squeezed, and the young man convulsed in recoil, then crumpled onto the keyboard.   
James then tapped into the database, and went back upstairs. In doing this, the Deustches were able to listen to all, even the most protected, conversations.  
James then attached his bungee cord to a rail, tightened it, and jumped off the side.  
Yahoo.


	2. Facility

The young killer landed on the roof of a vast and cold weapons depot. Here most of the arms used by the Soviets and Distovias was shipped and rerouted. The "Mailer of Guns" per say.  
Our man swiftly maneuvers inside the ventilation system, which leads to the fan in the johns. The door of the vent opens with a muffled squeak, and his eyes dart about. He sees roughly five people using the restrooms at that time. All of which are hostile. Quickly, he draws his submachine gun, and adds the silencer.  
The sights rest on an older member's head, he is seemingly enjoying his newspaper. In the sharp whistle of a bullet, red spatters onto the paper. He slumps against the flimsy aluminum door, and his rifle drops to the tile with a clatter. At this, the remaining four jerk out of whatever is happening, and cock their guns.  
His eyes widen. They had discovered him. The entire goddamn base would be on his ass in a minute. He tried to restrain from firing, fearing it would make more noise, but his itchy fingers got the best of him. The first two fell flat on their faces; the third whirled around, and knocked a urinal off the wall with his chin. And the fourth, seeing the fate of the others, turned around in vain, slipping against the now-wet tile. He stood up, and felt the hot, burning hell of a bullet, lodged in his gut. He collapsed, grasping his chest, crumpling alongside his friends. He couldn't respond, he could see, but he couldn't breath, he couldn't twitch. He was powerless. It was a matter of seconds before his brain would die from lack of oxygen. The last thing he saw was James' foot. Death isn't so bad.  
James kicked the man in the face, and exited the privies. Once out, a small hallway was in his view, and none of the patrolling guards seemed to notice the commotion upstairs. Yes, there was stairs. The stairs led to the main of the hallway, but were directly across from an armored door. The door required a key card, which James did not have. A door was next to the jam in which James was in, so he entered it. As he cracked the door on it's hinges, he saw a glimpse of a helmeted guard coming up the stairs, right at him.  
Our man, stood to the side, and waited. The door swung open, the Soviet swaggered out, puffing on a cigarette. His neck broke rather easily.   
At the bottom of the freshly climbed stairs, was a stationary guard. He seemed bored, and kept mumbling about how he wanted a brewski. He didn't complain after he was motionless. Next to this corpse, was another door, which led to another small hallway. In this, was a guard that had a key card.  
Our man grabs him from behind, and a knife was dug into his chest. His fingers cringe, but no such scream escapes his lips, for James' hand is there to silence it. He grabs the key-card, and opens the door. The first visible Soviet was flung to the wall in impact, blood spats against the concrete, his uniform grows dark. The two others gunned down without incident. Our man taps on a console in the room to open a remote-controlled door. You have to get at it from the main hallway. He peeked out. Only one was present. The knife used to kill one, was thrown, and landed in the sentry's eye. His head flung backward, he stumbles, and catches on a bunch of crates.  
James enters the door, to have a burst of fire sound. The 7.65 mm ammo ricochets onto the wall right by our man's face, dazing him, and nearly making him soil himself. He turns, and the gun is already pointed at him. He has no hope. This is the end. He raises his arms. James is done for. But, he looks at his hand which is grasping the gun. The Deustche is pointed at the only light in the room. He fires, and in a crack, it is pitch dark. The soviet fires blindly in the dark, but pays dearly.   
The Deustche exits via another armored door. The next is an abandoned hallway, with four armored doors. One on the side opposite to James, one on the right, one on the left, and the one James was in. He enters the one on the right. Two large Charcoal cylinders stand connected by a pipe. A couple of scientists bustle about, too busy to notice you. So these were the men.  
James had heard of these guys. They were the famed who helped create the Soviet's empire. The Soviet's influence on the police and Military, They were renowned and respected by all factions and gangs.  
Pity.  
The bullets ripped into them like the wind on a cold winter day. Their starched lab coats now with Crimson hues. In the opposite room, it was the same, but with multiple cylinders. Copper, Brown, and white. Here was, among the scientists, a deceiver. Your insider. A double agent, to tell James information.  
After mowing down the scientists, our man chats with him.

"You have Information?"  
"Yes."  
"Well?"  
The insider now begins to explain in detail where the shippers are located, and where the critical machinery is. The guns are prepackaged, and disassembled.  
"You'll need this…"  
He hands James a key-pad decryptor.  
"…to get in the machine shipping."  
At this, the insider flees, and James reassures himself. So far, the mission has been a little rough around the edges, but successful. He couldn't fail now.  
He exits the Scientific hallway, and enters a checkpoint. Two armored doors on either side of the checkpoint stand ominously. James sneaks to the one on the right, to his dismay, be discovered by a guard. James' gun is faster, but he has unfortunately caught the attention of the checkpoint. The seven guards are killed surprisingly silently and quickly, all heaped on one another. A mass of red flesh. He then enters the door. Inside is a vast room of platforms. In which are workers sorting. Sorting the explosives from the small-arms. Explosives? Explosives! James grabs a nearby crate, and heaves it at a bunch of laborers. Then empties his clip into the wooden crate. The whole thing detonates, and tosses the workers six feet away. The others panic, and are shot by a continuous spray of fire. No guards are present here, so James can work freely. He rounds up all valuable equipment, and destroys it all. Then heads to the opposite door at the checkpoint. In there is a heavily guarded area, where the Soviet's deepest scientific secrets are held. How are they so efficient, powerful, and omniscient? Our man hopes to find the answers written all neat on a piece of paper, in a file cabinet labeled, "SECRET- ALL TELLING FILES." However, this is not the case. There were several guards who were gutted by lead, then glass walled laboratories. Our man then takes nice aim, and caps a few of the scientists. However, before he can finish, the scientists brandish Distovias. They were packing! Bullets smash through the glass, and it eventually shatters. They almost had him, his heart was racing, his head trembling. They were all dead, laying on the floor, strewn about as though a dog has messed up some rag dolls. Dark puddles grew around them, but James doesn't have time to watch. He uses the keypad decryptor, and enters the machine room.  
The room is monstrous. Giant columns of machinery stand chugging away, looming over everything else. James doesn't know how they work, nor does he care, but he will destroy them. For such a titanic room, there were few guards, and, apparently, your comrade in the Deustches made short work of them. He strolls toward you, stepping over the occasional corpse, fear written across his face.  
"Hello James."  
"Hey Alec. How are things?"  
"Fine, I came in through the back."  
"Right, I'll take care of the heavy stuff."  
Our man had been supplied with plastic explosives, with which to destroy The Soviet's technology. He applied one to each pumping sorter, and whipped out the detonator.  
"Right, now, you sure we are clean?"  
"Of course we are-"  
Alec was interrupted by the sound of a siren, and distant tramping.  
"…Damn!"  
Alec got on the left of the door, James on the right. However, the Soviets burst through like a fist through Jell-O. And among them, was a Distovia Commander. The leader of the Distovias in this district. His death would be a great loss. In the flood of human bodies rushing through the door, James can no longer see Alec or the Commander. James' bullets are lost in the crowd, and he had better get out of there.  
As he sprints for the door, he sees the smoke rising out of the commander's pistol. And he sees Alec's limp body, laying below the gun.


	3. Runway

Everything slowed, the battle cries of the Soviets, who were confused, (they didn't expect to see two men, they were thinking about an army.) The bullets bouncing off the steel ceiling, the spent cartridges, everything went practically to a standstill. All James saw, was the fresh corpse of his comrade in arms, and the man who ruthlessly shot him. He waited until the commander raised his head, and he saw his face.  
A bullet clipped James' ear, and he was shaken to his senses. He turned around and smashed through the double doors. A stainless steel hallway was in front of him. As well as a loading ramp, that went outside. James rolls down it, and lands in the packed snow. It was like landing on rocks. A small office was next to him. He enters, and two guards' eyes widen. Their hands are not nearly quick enough. A key lays on the table, and James sees a plane out of the window. That's his ticket out of here.  
He grasps the ticket, exits, and sprints for the plane. By now bullets are rounding at him, whizzing angrily near his hair. He hears the clapping-esque firing behind him, and he winces at every one. Finally reaching the plane unharmed, he enters hastily. Desperately jamming the key in the ignition, he drops it on the floor. Not good.  
A rumble shakes the plane itself, and James peeks out the port. A tank was going full speed toward him. The runway crumbling under the tracks of this armored behemoth. A shell shrieks overhead, and smashes into a nearby pillbox, exploding in a ball of flame. Shrap enters the plane. And tears into the seat next to our man. He finally grabs the key, and slams it into the ignition. He jerks it to the right, and the small engine whines to life. The tank is so close, but yet they haven't fired again. A clatter of small arms fire grabs his attention again, and he pulls off. Suddenly remembering the explosives, he pauses, his hands guide off of the joystick, and he grasps the detonator.

"…I'm sorry."

The walls of the facility fly apart, and a wave of heat pushes the plane forward in midair.

At the Deustches' private camp, the small Piper lands softly. And James is happy to be alive, but yet is drug down for Alec's demise. Immediately after landing, James is taken aside by the leader's aide.

"The boss needs to talk to you. Urgently."  
Our man is rushed and pushed toward a small trailer in the temporary camp. Once near the door is opened from inside for him. He enters, and inside are a few men in fatigues, and one in a business suit. Once the suited man notices James, he begins to speak. The men in the fatigues were all talking strategy to him, and some such.

"Would excuse us a moment colonels?"  
All of the men in uniform exited the trailer orderly, and the door was closed.  
"James, in times like this, when we are on the offensive, we need 110 from everyone. The transporters, the decision makers, the insiders, and the killers; all have an important part. Especially when we are in the Soviet's homeland! We just beat the shit out of their main transport hub and communications, and now we are going to need to flee for our lives. You think that's going to be easy?"

James opened his mouth but didn't have time to respond.

"Of course not! We are one of the smallest factions in the world, and we just spat in the face of the largest! We need to have all that we can!"

Where was he going with this?

"In other words, what happened today in the main machine room?"

There was a silence, some of the trucks outside were already moving out.

"Alec was killed by a Distovia-"

"Bull!"

What?!?

" I knew that you had nothing but contempt for Alec, ever since you were assigned to him for a partner!"

That was a lie; Alec was James' best friend.

"I know, that when you had succeeded, that you thought you could get away with it. So you shot him, dumped his body in the room, and ran for it! Then you detonate the place to rid the evidence!"

This was ridiculous.

"Guards! Kill this man now!"

What choice did he have? He shot them all. Then ran for his plane, that he "borrowed" from the Soviets. He flew off, away from the desperate militia, away from the prosecution, and away from the gang he had served for six years.

This just wasn't his lucky day.


	4. A New gang

In one and a half years, many things have changed. James has long since abandoned The Deustches, and has never looked back. He wandered aimlessly, practically starving himself. He had no other choice, he had no money. So, he was holding up a gas station, when someone noticed him. This kid, (James) had style, he had skill, he had talent for the game of violence. He took James aside, and thrust a gun barrel into his face.

"I may have an interesting proposition for you."

Not too many people refuse with a gun to their head.

"Ok…"

"How would you like to work for me?"

James couldn't help but smirk.

"And what exactly would I be doing?"

"The same as now."

"Which Gang?"

At this, his attacker flinched. This guy was knowledgeable.

"The Klobbs."

James forced himself not to laugh. The Klobbs were fairly large, but held a small amount of territory, and were named after their feeble weapons. They were nothing but a bunch of punks, in the views of others. Even civilians found them just a nuisance, not deadly.

"Fair enough."

The attacker relaxes his grip, and police sirens could be heard in the distance. The attendant was still on the phone behind glass. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't bulletproof. Both James, and the recruiter run off, to an alley. There, they catch their breath.

"How…did…you…know…about…"

"I…used…-gasp- to work for The Deustches."

"Ahh… the never ending menace to the Soviets…"

"I haven't heard for roughly a year. What has happened?"

"When you made the first strike against their hub of shipping, they immediately launched a counter-attack, and you nearly lost all of your fighting force. However, a few remained, those not riddled with bullets. And they met up with the support base that was sixty miles away from the temporary camp. They regrouped, and held off the Soviets a while, then retreated. Since then, all the attacks have practically been suicidal. Just glass splinters, that catch in the side of the giant, and are easily swept away."

"Such details…how do you know all about our struggle?"

"Your Valor is legendary. Your men fight like nothing else."

"Hmm…indeed."

The recruiter took James to a safe house, where he scheduled an appointment at HQ the next morning, and then offered James a couch on which to sleep.

It was the first thing with cushions that James had touched for months.

Morning arrived quickly.

The Headquarters was an abandoned warehouse, in which uniformed men bustled over maps, slapping their hands on obscure parts of town. Others were couriers, sent to deliver messages to generals from the front lines.

A high official noticed his recruiter, and greeted him warmly.

"Michael, it has been a while. We have gained ground in Siberia!"

The recruiter introduced James to the official, and they shook hands. Then Michael informed the official of James' former status.

"-gasp- A former Deustche in my outfit! Hot damn!"

James was hustled into a room, where he showered, was given a uniform, and his weapon. A Klobb. The Klobb was a cheap, Czech pistol, poorly manufactured, and quickly made. But, if the men were good enough, the Klobb could be a fearsome weapon. Scattering its bullets in a shotgun esque spread, you didn't have to be extremely accurate.

"We have to begin to make a name for ourselves. –sigh-"

The official returned with a parka. He thrust it toward James.

"You're going to Siberia my friend. Well trained men as yourself do not need a beginner's job."

Off to the Lion's den once more.


	5. Siberia

James was used to this kind of pressure. The blood no longer rushed to his face, his pulse remained the same. He had seen too much gore to be ancy. The transport he had taken here was waiting a mile away. If they just plow right up here, they would be as stealthy as Steve Urkel. So, they parked a mile north, and his guide led him through the massive trees and thick underbrush. Everything was covered in snow. EVERYTHING. Not just a little fluff or anything, but the whole damn countryside was drowning in it. And Snow was difficult to move in, dodging bullets in snow would be worse.

"This is as far as I go."

They had reached a small enclosure, where the trees surrounded them.

"What are my objectives?"

"Ok…"

He looked down at a wooden clipboard.

"A corps of Klobbs from an earlier party got massacred by the Soviets and Mercenaries here. What remains of them is scattered all about the land here. Regroup them, and form a fighting force. Next, a high Klobb official is fraternizing with the enemy. In this case, he is assisting the Soviets in killing our men in the field currently. Assassinate the traitor. The bastard has no reason to live. And lastly, shut off the communication relay for the Soviets here. And just a piece of advice. The Soviets here are experienced, and well trained. Not like anything you saw in the facility. Those green horns didn't have a chance. You'll need the strength in numbers. And the sniper mercenaries are first class shots. You'll need to dodge the mother fuers. Good luck."

At this, he chortled and went on his way back to the transport.

James now un-holstered his Klobb and inspected it. It didn't look too convincing. A small 20 round clip, the worst accuracy possible, .22 caliber, and couldn't be silenced. In other words, in an instant, all the Soviets and mercs could hear him, would be firing at him, and James couldn't hit the bastards unless he was no less than 40 feet from them. Not good.

He started off. The countryside didn't offer any cover, was all open space. With an occasional sniper post. Most uninhabited. He wasn't too far, when he spotted a comrade. He silently signaled him, and the trooper crawled over, prone.  
(whispering) "Thank God you're here. Where are the other reinforcements?"

"I'm all there is."

"Damn."

"Anyway, thank Him for what you got. If they only send one of me, I better be pretty damn good. Doncha think?"

"Right. Well, the others are all over the place. I just can't get to them."

He points to the sniper post in the distance.

"Ok, I'll create a diversion, and you go warn the others that I am here."

So James started firing at the sniper. He (the sniper) was taken aback by this, but shot at our man anyway. But it worked. The trooper got across.

The trooper sprinted for all his worth, but the sniper was still concentrating on James, who was behind a snow bank. Bullets were piercing the snow, but stopped by the solid ice covered under the bank.  
"Shit."

Moments later, multiple Klobbs rang out to the left of our man. Well, at least these guys had smarts. The sniper's attention was diverted, and James sprung from his cover. The enemy was most an estimated 15 yards away; and James grasped the PP7 lodged in his belt.

(The PP7's were long time allies with both Deustches and Klobbs, and seeing as both of those gangs were not much of enemies, they shared the PP7's loyalty. In case you haven't noticed, each gang is named after their chosen weapon.)

The PP7 was most likely more accurate than the Klobb, and James took his time. His sights leveled on the sniper's head.

Bang.

The sniper's head neck explodes in a swash of blood, red glows on his arctic camouflage. His head flies to the right, and raises upright again. Then, he sort of collapses on the post, head slamming into the wooden bar.

The Klobbs to James' right were stunned outright. This guy had hit a man 45 feet away? With a pistol? Who is this man?

Without further hesitation, James marched to the right, where his troops stand.

"What the hell are you thinking? There are snipe-"

James didn't get to finish. One of the three standing immediately was thrown to the left. Arms flung, balance lost. They didn't have to see the blood spats on the snow to know. He was dead before he hit the ground.

In the extreme distance, a sniper squats on the hard packed snow. Looking at the startled Klobbs through his scope. The cross hairs couldn't stop on anyone else. The one in the parka made sure of that. Damn. He could wait. These guys weren't professional, they would screw up, and then they would die.

"Are you guys insane? There is a goddamn sniper out there, who loves to shoot juicy melons like yours! Did you forget that?"

They didn't respond, one hung his head; one stared at his comrade's corpse. Another bullet whizzed overhead. There was nowhere to go now. Just open space. James was behind a small heap of ice, with two rookies and a corpse, in a field, with just flat ground in every direction for fifty feet, with a sniper on his ass from eighty feet away, and no sniper rifle. Just machine pistols. And a double action 9mm. Shit.

Another bullet. But, now clatter of small arms fire, in the general direction of the attacker. James peeked out. A bunch of troopers were trying in vain, to kill the sniper. But, this was their chance!

"Let's go!"

The other two grabbed what they could from the dead man, and then they sprinted to catch up. James was getting nearer and nearer. The sniper was seventy, sixty, fifty, forty feet away. And he was still concentrating on the other Klobbs behind him. Fool. James was taking no chances. He would get up close, and personal. The sniper rifle was a bulky weapon, and difficult to use in close quarters. Lets hope the sniper doesn't carry a pistol. James was eight feet away when the enemy finally noticed him. The Klobb ripped him to shreds. Tattered pieces of clothing drifted in the air, shortly after he fell over. Like leaves, drifting in the fall wind. The Klobbs who had created the diversion, now crouched, and jogged over to where James sit.

When they got there, the other two Klobbs had just arrived, and gasping for breath. Drops of the enemy's blood has spattered onto James' parka. He really WAS that close. Damn.

"Hello fellows."

"Hey, I am Lieutenant Robert of the Klobb's eighth infantry division. I was to lead this assault."

"Well, I am to relive you. I am taking over, with orders from Headquarters."  
James was surprised at this sudden and rehearsed answer from Lt. Robert, and had no Idea that the Klobb gang had Military ranks, but went along.

"And you are?…"

"You will refer to me as 'sir'."

James snapped back, he didn't like large egos.

"Anyway, I have seen the mercenary snipers, but where are the Soviet troops? I heard that they are here, and are battle hardened."

Lt. Robert sighed, and lowered his head.

"That is true, but they don't wish to waste ammo on sniper-fodder they figure we are of no threat. And, they really just haven't encountered us that much. But when they have, they caused serious casualties."

"Mm-hmm. Well, that is about to be change. And, Lieutenant, what is your last name? It is awkward to call you, 'Lt. Robert.'"

"Gates, Robert Gates."

"Very good. And lastly, where are the Soviet patrols?"

"They patrol from those trenches there."

He gestures to a nearby carving out of the snow. A whole maze of these trenches extend over the countryside. The communication relay dish is visible from four miles away. So, that wasn't a question of, "where."

"Let's go."

They all crouch, clutching their Pistols like the gift of life. Some were nervously glancing at the nearby sniper post, where the corpse of the enemy lay. A few wooden shacks lay here and there, but nothing of consequence. But, only one contained the double-agent. James leaned against one of the shack's external walls, and the others mimicked him.

"Lt. Gates, get over here!"  
The officer stumbled over,  
"Yeah?"

"Which of these hellholes contains the traitor?"

"The son-of-a-bitch bastard. He's in that one there."

Lt. Gates points to a shack, where a green square has been painted on the walls. As James and crew get off of the shack they are leaning on, a patrol investigates the whispering. Just as they round the corner where James is, they are in for a surprise. James digs a large, jagged knife into the Soviet's belly, and he gasps in pain. A droplet of blood lands on James' shoulder with a –pip.-

James dumps the body beside the wall, and moves on. They hike toward the commander shack, knifing the occasional patrol, then hiding the body. They finally reach the shack. And all the members line up at the door. Side by side. James kicks the door in, and rolls into the door jam. There was the traitor holding a crate of ammo, with a Soviet escort. The Soviet was brought down in a hail of gunfire from James, and the others come in. The traitor drops the box immediately and raises his arms. Shit, they got me.

"Kill him."

At James' words, the traitor frantically tries to unholster his two Klobbs in vain. He is pushed against the tower of crates behind him, blood freely flowing, it pools below him. Bullets tend to do that.  
James grasps the Klobbs, and makes a run for the communication dish. The complex is huge. No guards inside however. James tells the others to wait outside, and cover him. He goes up, and switches off the console. Easy as pie.

He then exits and confronts Lt. Gates.

"Gates, is there any more to this Soviet shit-yard?"

"Yeah, the huge bunker below."

"Ok, can I enter it stealthily? So I don't have the whole base on my ass in a hot damn minute?"

"There is that air-vent right over there."

"Ok, wait here, I will clear out the base, and rezdevous with you immediately after."

"Sure, but you're dealing with plenty of troops."

"I'm used to it."  
James runs up to the vent, shoots off all the locks , and jumps in.

Just like old times.

A/N thanks to those that Reviewed this and if u could pls spread this around i would apreciate it


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